Final Memories
by Just a Hello
Summary: In every generation there is one girl in all the world That’s not true anymore, is it? In this new day and age, there are two Slayers. A light and a dark, the tough and the soft. Opposites in every way, yet they have something in common. A destiny.
1. Prolouge

**Authors Note;** This is the prequel to my short one shot 'Final Night'. Which you wouldn't have to read to understand this, due to. Ya know, its status as a prequel. I'm dedicating this too **RockerWolfPup **who gave me the idea of doing a prequel. I'm working the story out as I go along, so bear with me, much. This will be my first Buffy; the Vampire Slayer, fanfiction that will be any significant length. So if anyone has any ideas, or comments, or just a compliment. Feel free to review, I always love to read what people have to say about my work. Thanks for reading and have fun!

**Summary**; In every generation there is one girl in all the world; That's not true anymore, is it? In this new day and age, there are two Slayers; a light and a dark; the tough and the soft. Opposites in every way, yet they have something in common with each other that they don't with any other; a shared destiny. Faith Lehane has awaken from her 'car accident' induced coma, and she was far from happy. Buffy Summers, thinking that her life finally, for once has settled; a steady boyfriend, friends, family. – Is about to be thrown upside down for a prophecy that is just the same dance its two players have had before; one to the death. Two Slayers, one outcome – Who'll come out on top, in a fight between the chosen two?

------------------------------------------

Standing on that railing, she looked down as if there was nothing more natural. Perched on the stone wall, five stories from the ground. Her bare feet balanced barely on the balls of her feet, rocking ever so gently with the wind. Hair that would have colour in the day, seemed obsidian now in the moonless darkness of night. There was something feline about the way she poised, as if graphing the track her fall would have taken. That was how Buffy found her. Walking through what had once been a window, the shards of glass still laying forgotten on the ground. She stood behind her, not knowing if the dark woman would jump; it looked like she would.

"Come down, Faith" Finally she said, when there seemed to be nothing more to say. Faith turned her head, just a fraction to the side, letting those dark eyes flourish her with a look colder than black diamonds. Her hues were voids of absolutely nothing, they curled with a glitter. That should have given them life, should have made that look seem so much less frightening. But they looked like the eyes of a Doll; lifeless and observant. Buffy felt the pulse of her heart crash against the cage of her rib cage; something about that danger made her agitated. Her own hazel eyes, so light, were drawn to the dark figure looming before her. She waited for the words telling her to fuck off, to leave as she delved into the darkness she seemed to at home with. The night; the sin.

"You ever dream of flying?" Faith said, in such a distant tone, staying balanced so frigidly on her toes. Leaning forward, as if about to fall forward. Her hues drifted closed for a moment, as she righted herself. She let her presence fill her form, as she inhaled; her chest heaved forward with the breath, as she gazed at the fall before her. Her obsidian strands bristled around her in another gust of chilling wind. Her body reacting, obviously, through the material of her thin white wife beater.

"Yes…" Buffy didn't know where Faith was going with this. Looking at the other girl's thin wrist, she could see, with observation, the hospital band around her wrist. She knew what it said, she'd trailed her fingers lovingly over it merely an hour ago. Faith had let her trail her California tanned fingers across her toned stomach, and knead the muscles of her collar bone. She'd folded like it was what she craved, what she wanted; needed. Yet now, to see the passionate person she'd grown so in love with, so distant. So cold. She wanted to weep; not for herself, no. For the lose. Mourning something that was lost.

"I never did." She said is so simply, as if this was something that she shouldn't be concerned about. That she didn't miss out on some observant portion of her childhood. Yet now, she raised her thin alabaster arms. As if by command, a rustle of wind rolled past, bringing her obsidian coloured to ride it like a shadow. As those arms extended, like a great bird, there was a predatory aspect to the motion of her perching on the balls of her feet. Intense black marbles frigid and resting on the features of Buffy. Like a great Raven, spotting its prey. " It's a lot like falling, I bet. Except you think you're in control."

"Faith —" Buffy shuttered, she could hear the fear in her own voice; she seemed to be the only one afraid of how the taller woman perched just barely on the cement wall of the roof. Rocking so gently with the wind that called to her so silently, even her blonde-counterpart couldn't here. Swallowing, she wanted to step forward and through the darkness that seemed to curtain between them. Keeping her from leaping forward. But she wondered, would a single movement forward cause Faith to lose the fragile balance she had sustained to perch on that high ledge, and in the constant dark turmoil of her own mind. Hazel eyes darted to the edge of the cement wall, stories high and when she spoke again, it was a desperate plea. "Please, get down."

"You're not though." Her wide spread arms extended further, as her previously slouched shoulders rolled back, and let her gaze out with intense gratitude. As if thanking the night of its shadows, thanking it like she never could another human. Those dark marbles that turned to gaze at Buffy, were nothing that could be considered human. They was nothing in those hues, but pain. She looked every part the wounded animal; dangerous, and cornered. Her alabaster arms, crooked slightly, as she let them drop, a wry smile finding its way across her lips. As if desperate to speak the words she communicated to the night. She let out an uneven breath, shuttering and almost tipping forward. "You never are."

The silence between them stretched, just as the darkness that Buffy couldn't find in herself to cross; every confliction she found was a desperate plea for the younger Slayer to remove herself from the ledge she balanced on so slightly. The rocking motions the dark haired girl was making, made the SoCal Slayer nervous. One wrong move and Faith would fall—again, she would fall, but Buffy knew. This time she wouldn't have a chance to see those wounded obsidian hues again. She had to break the silence, before it broke what resolve she had; inhaling a deep breath, she'd take half a step forward, wary of the brunette's mental state of being; insanity was a very real thing with Faith, "Faith—Please, come down. We can talk."

"Do you remember the last time we talked, B?" The brunette whispered, while rocking on that stone wall; gazing downward at the ground so far below her. Bare toes curling slightly, long nails scratching against the cement she perched on. She no longer was looking over at Buffy, she seemed incapable of it; because now. She was looking inward. Comic books sprawled across her bed, music pumping through her ears, as she smiled. She could remember she had smiled; but then there was silence. Such silence as she found her blonde-counterpart perched with her finger on the stop button. Shaking her head, Faith inhaled, standing straight on the cement wall, she turned around to gaze directly at Buffy for the first time. She was smiling, her heels no longer on the wall, but hanging over the edge, leaving her barely balanced; yet she smiled wide. Dimples showing on her cheeks, dual rows of pearl white perfect teeth. She spoke, smooth waves of such a rich voice, vocal sexual pleasure; "Com'n, B. Give us a kiss—."

And then she fell backwards—Obsidian strands of hair billowing around her falling form as Buffy rushed forward with every ounc of her Slayer speed. But she wasn't fast enough—She never was, Faith was falling with that same smile on her features, her hospital scrub clad form falling almost in slow motion, since she had almost and eternity to turn her head to look at the ground below her; the pavement rushing to greet her with open arms. As she turned her hues back to look upward at their matching hazel pair, she barked a chuckle. The ground no longer waited for her; it had opened its arms wide, the pavement split open and fissured. Fire burning through the crack, screams of hell finding themselves resting in the ears of both Slayers. Faith was falling straight into a portal to hell, no metaphor for her life, but the literal thing. Buffy found her vocal cords, as she stretched her hand over the side of the building, trying to reach the falling girl.

---

"Faith!" Snapping up from where she was tangled in her sheets, Buffy was breathing hard; her chest raising and falling violently. Dilating hazel eyes flickered around the room with parched breaths. It had seemed so real, still disoriented; she untangled herself from the pastel blankets and stumbled over to her window, opening them to gain much needed fresh air. Looking at the ground a story below her, she got paranoid for a moment, only a moment; no Faith, no falling. Buffy calmed down, slouching herself to the floor, head resting in her hands as she went over the mantra in her head._ It wasn't real, it wasn't real. Faith is still in a coma, it so wasn't real._ – And it was then, that her alarm went off for school, the chirping sound barely penetrating her clouded mind; the images flashing like memories she couldn't and wouldn't remember—Faith was falling, and she couldn't save her …

Hazel eyes opened; as she stared through her fingers at the carpet she sat on. She could hear her mother downstairs, already up and cooking breakfast, the scent rolling across the kitchen in waves of scented pleasure. Buffy raised herself, wearily to her feet, while swallowing back the bile that had been raising in her throat; she hated faith_Didn't she?_ – But the thought of the younger slayer falling into such torment as hell, it shook her. The tension bleeding through her skin like a palpable thing. Inhaling a much needed breath, she went about the routine that she had set for herself; she would move on, she would take life as it came to her.

Destiny or not, she would live her life… – Wouldn't she?

---

_Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep..._

To the patrons of the hospital; that sound was a comfort. Whoever was hooked up to that machine, was alive in the only sense that mattered. Their heart beat, their lungs expanded. What more could someone want? The political stand point of the hospital staff; _Talk to them, they can hear you._ The grieving family and friend of coma patients rustled through the terminal care unit. These were bodies, to whom had been motionless for weeks, months, years, decades. And the family never came, the room were bright with flowers, balloons and cards. _Get well!_ Proclaimed in different languages, as tear filled eyed mothers watch their children sleep in something so close to death, there was only that; a heart beat and a expansion of lungs. But no one gave up hope, they remained for years. Day after day coming in to tell loved ones about their trivial days, their ups and downs. As if it would help; much like talking to the dead. There never was an answer.

But they wanted to be there; for when their loved one's eyes opened for the first time; Months, or Decades. They wanted to be there.

But down, far on the end of the Terminal Care Unit, sat a darkened room. The glass paned door closed, and the lights out. Eight months, and there had been no movement. The doctors whispered to each other of the dark haired girl who had no family, no friends; nothing but a beating heart and a expansion of lungs, there were no whispers of a loved one's day, no cards proclaiming _Get well!_ Or _We miss you!_—Just a silent room, with a forgotten member of society. No one was waiting around with that eternal hope, for those dark hues to open and settle upon them in a blurry haze. Past that curtain, was nothing more that another one of life's terminally unfortunate souls, who had nothing to look forward to, than years of a haunting past. There was something decidingly sad about the girl; something that was a mystery.

The Doctors were baffled by the girl, no older than sixteen, to whom lay sleeping, for eight months, and there was no reunion of family. Whispers amoungst the staff, as they laid out a past for this motionless figure; was she a run away? A murderer? Or was she simply lost in life, family out there looking for her? Was this state she was in, some macabre sign of love? Had she fought for love and lost? They laid such lavish detail, in a staff lounge. Sitting around each other, imploring into a world they knew nothing of. Why should they; her heart beat, and her lungs expanded. But they wanted more, the details. They wanted to know, even while in what seems, and eternal sleep, she frowned. She became a part of that Staff, she was never in the conversation but she was talked about. She had no family to speak of; but the Doctors. They would talk to her, tell her of their day, and try and make that eight month frown become a smile. They knew, she couldn't hear them; even if they told those desperate families they could. They knew; and yet, they couldn't help it. She was never spoken to by name, she was just 'Hey kid' or 'What's up, champ'—She was the daughter of every Doctor who wanted a child, but didn't have one. She was the symbol of forgotten, for those with a fissure in their family lines—Without a word, she had become some symbol of hope for those who had none.

But today? As the families bristled through the bright rooms of their loved one's, she remained motionless. Dark hair spread across her pillow, limbs numb from lack of movement. Features pale, unlike the slight tan she had, had when she was brought in. She remained, frozen in the drowned out voices from three rooms over, and the husband to whom had left his wife two decades earlier, yet she still visited. The brunette's lids flickered, as if she was merely asleep and having a nightmare; eight months of nightmares, so vivid, as she had no where else to live, but in that scape of nightmares. Living in hell for eight months. Her lids flickered more violently this time, as her heart rate raised; the mellow _beep_ jumping four seconds in speed, much quicker; desperate. Her chest raised and fell in violent gasps of breath; head rolled listlessly to the side, head fretting lifelessly over the pillow, as her muscles coiled. Each limb shaking with the sudden tension in her rock hard muscles. Tone stomach bunched, as her body fought against her minds desire to wake up.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

There was a pulse; her body hummed with something the Doctor's couldn't understand. Inside her, not Buffy, was the destiny of the Slayer; _She_ should be the one girl in all the world. She should fight the good fight, against evil. But, she was darkness, as well. She could feel the engulfing hatred that slowly blackened her heart, pulled her deeper into oblivion, let her taste the power that could be her's—Immortality in stories; she didn't care fot eternal life in body, she wanted to _be_ someone important. She could get that through the darkness that beckoned her, promised her—All she could remember, was how delightful it felt to be a god. To hold the power of life and death in her hands; or had it only been death? Now, that her mind worked its details; she couldn't remember anything outside that feeling. The power. With such thoughts, her back arched off the hospital issue bed, her body straining again imaginary chains, that tried to hold her down. Hands scratching across the fabric, ripping it, as she tried to free herself from something that wasn't there.

Her limbs were heavy, restrained—She couldn't breath…

Some form of strangled sound was released from her throat, a raspy groan of pain, as she endured that inner turmoil Images flashed behind her flickering closed lids; _Flash._ "Give us a kiss" A smile. _Flash_. "You did it, B. You killed me." _Flash._ Falling, air rushing past her as she fell towards the ground, yet she could look behind her. There would be no truck this time, just fissuring pavement. _Flash._ Hell. The burning torture that ran through her limbs, as she grunted a scream. Scolding hot pain washed over her body as her limbs bucked her torso upward. No peace; no solace. Just pain, hot pain flowing through every nerve of her body. _Flash._ "Kill me, please! Kill me!" It was raining, thunder crackled above head, as she clutched at the coat of an unknown male figure. Her own tears mixed with the rain washing over her broken features; obsidian doll eyes glittered with sorrow and pain. _Flash. _Darkness. _Flash. _A knife. _Flash._ Flames. _Flash_. A scream. _Flash_. Falling. _Flash_. Hazel eyes…

Everything went silent, as her body grew motionless once more, beating heart, level breathing—… As obsidian coloured hues hesitantly slid open, viewing the white clad room, for the first time.


	2. Another Thunderstorm

**Authors Note:** Thank you those who reviewed. Second chapter, I have a larger general idea of what will be going on! In this chapter, there in a lonely Diner, that is about to get hit with the beginnings of something bigger. Ever hear of the big picture? Will there be innocent bystanders to a grudge that has been burning for over eight months. Innocent bystanders; there is no such creature. Sorry for the few days wait, I lost almost the entire chapter when my power went out. So bleedin' unfair, I say! Any who, Feel free to tell me what you think; If ever wishing to drop a line; AIM name is 'Aphotic Faith', always happy to chat. Song in the beginning of this chapter, is "Passive" by a Perfect Circle.

**J:** Thank you for the review. It was helpful for when I wrote this chapter. I have yet to determine the actual plot of the story, y'know. Working chapter by chapter and winging it from there. Got a beginning and an end, everything else. Trying not to go for the cliché 'revenge' plots, or the even more cliché 'love' plots – Maybe a nice mix of the two! Oh'ell, it'll be worked out. Eventually.

**Summary**; In every generation there is one girl in all the world; That's not true anymore, is it? In this new day and age, there are two Slayers; a light and a dark; the tough and the soft. Opposites in every way, yet they have something in common with each other that they don't with any other; a shared destiny. Faith Lehane has awaken from her 'car accident' induced coma, and she was far from happy. Buffy Summers, thinking that her life finally, for once has settled; a steady boyfriend, friends, family. – Is about to be thrown upside down for a prophecy that is just the same dance its two players have had before; one to the death. Two Slayers, one outcome – Who'll come out on top, in a fight between the chosen two?

----------------------------

"**Dead as dead can be," my doctor tells me  
But I just can't believe him, ever the optimistic one  
I'm sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy  
Wake up and face me, don't play dead cause maybe… **

**Someday you will walk away, and say;**

"**You disappoint me."**

**Maybe you are better off this way…**

----------------------------

Raining—Poetic justice, really. Stacy Morgan was your average college student working through life. Her family leaving her to fend the cruel world on her own. Not the perfect daughter mold that they had aimed for. Average coloured brown eyes looked over her grease splattered uniform, as she slouched behind the counter top. The only thing between her and the rest of the world. She wondered ideally if it was all worth it; waiting here day in and day out. For some opportunity to present itself, some sign from God. Though, being Jewish herself. Sighing, her inner thoughts rolled over her absolute utter lack of things to live for. No where job, worthless apartment, no love to come home to. And now, not even a clear sky. She watched the side window of the diner, the rain pouring heavier with every passing moment. It was a constant onslaught of water, making it hard to see past the brink of the window.

The door jingled as the door to the diner opened—ten o'clock at night, and the booths and tables lay empty. The rain outside rushed across the sky, hard enough to cause the sign 'Sunnydale Diner' to flicker in its faulty neon lighting. The waitress looked up, not expecting anything this time of night. People tended to stay inside during the night, strange things happened in Sunnydale. The figure that walked in was soaked through. The door closed behind her with another jingle and a click, a puddle already forming under thick black leather boots.

A young woman, standing about five foot eight or nine inches tall, hard to tell. The denim jacket was black with water, the fabric soaked through, dripping onto the floor with soft plopping sounds. A white tee shirt was soaked through, flashing a pale colour with every touch to the woman's flesh. Her clothes sloshed as the teenager walked into the empty diner. At least, Stacy thought she was a teenager—But the smoldering darkness of her anything but average brown eyes said otherwise. The engulfing black that had spread with her dilating pupil, spoke of a hidden purpose. Waves of soaked hair were strands of heavy obsidian curtains, hanging loose in front of those matching dark eyes, like a shield. The brunette seemed to not even pass a glance to Stacy, as she walked to the furthest booth in the diner. "Hello, ma'am! Can I get you anything?"

It suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea; cold black marbles altered from their passive glare on the far wall, to the nervous waitress behind the counter—Which sudden didn't seem like the wall it had only ten minutes prior. Drenched to the bone, the passive brunette just gazed at her is debating something with her stoic silence. There was a washed paleness to her skin, Stacy noticed—As if she hadn't seen the sun for a very long time. The teenager tilted her head to the side, still looking at the waitress before something altered; dry red lips parted into something that could have been seen in two lights. It seemed more a snarl than an actual expression, but soon one side lifted higher into a twisted smirk. A perfect dark eyebrow arched above those voids of dark colour. "Coffee."

A simple singular word; rolled across with what hinted at an accent. Not anything foreign, but it was a rough drawl. Almost close to the stereotypical Bostonian roll of words. Smokey tones, hinted at a smidgen to much smoke in that set of lungs. Rain soaked boots turned; heel rough on the ground as her ankle rotated. Leaving a obsidian mark on the polished white linoleum. The slight skitting sound was coupled only with the down pour of rain outside. Walking over to the counter, the brunette hoisted herself with inhuman grace and poise onto the stool. A single motion that wasn't lost on the waitress standing in front of her. Weird things happened in Sunnydale— "Sure." Picking up the pot, and setting a coffee cup in front of the only other in the diner, she continued while pouring the heated beverage. "Just passing through? Or do you live around here?"

"Business."

Again with the singular word responses; "Oh! That's cool, like. Really cool. What kind of business are you in?"

"Exterminator."

Stacy furrowed her brows; Exterminator? Average brown hues trailed over the drenched form in front of her. "Oh, like. Bugs?"

"What else is there to exterminate, People? Been there, done that." —The words were accompanied by a smirked, obvious this time. As those smoldering hues just looked at Stacy. The soaked brunette's tone hadn't changed for even a moment, remained in the passive tone-just a bare breath of words, as if each and everyone was wasted. Stacy, on the other hand, was getting flashes from all the cliché assassin movies she saw; Lone waitress in an empty diner at night, dark stranger walks in from the sight altering rain; her mind was running on panic, as average brown hues were drawn wide. The 'dark stranger' just drank her coffee, seeming to relish the taste, as if it was her first or last cup. Finally, the brunette seemed to take pit on the waitress. Lowering the coffee cup from her lips, she arched another eyebrow. "Jokin', Twinkie."

"Haha, I knew that. So knew that." There was an eyebrow raised in disbelief from the customer, and Stacy just pouted. How she went from terrified to pouting, was a mystery. Leaning forward slightly, on her elbows. She placed to coffee pot on the counter, her full attention on her enigmatic companion. "Fine, oh mysterious-dark-stranger. If you're not here for brutal and bloody deaths of those who have wronged you and your people. What brings you to Sunnydale? Not much here but cemeteries and malls."

"Like I said, Twinkie. Business." The brunette began, "Been out of the loop a while, stickin' around to pay some old buddies a visit." She was smiling now, dual rows of pearls, as she downed the rest of her coffee. Placing the coffee cup back on the counter, as leaning back slightly on the stool; passive black eyes looked across the space of the diner, chest raising with a particularly deep breath. Everything seemed so clean, the surfaces gleaming and perfect. Pure almost, her attention drifted so casually to the black mark her boot made on the floor; she ruined everything she touched. Speaking again, without even looking back at the college student so intent on her, "Would you regret it?"

Average brown eyes narrowed in confusion a moment, before; "Regret what?"

"Anything."

That seemed like a real random question, but she answered anyway, "Well, yeah. I always wanted—You're going to laugh—I wanted to be a dancer. You know, lights and music…" She watched as the brunettes dark eyes turned back to her; so slow, as if she had the time of the world on her side. Average brown matched smoldering black for a moment, before the customer stood gracefully from her seat and smiled. It seemed anything but happy.

"Why you here then, Twinkie? Sunnydale ain't no Broadway." She teased, lightly, "You need some faith in yourself. Send me a postcard when your wicked famous." –And just like that, she turned around, this time picking up her boots to not make another march on that perfect white floor. Striding towards the door, she used her shoulder to open it, the jingle accompanied her exit, just like it had her entrance. Stepping forward, the door closed with her weight no longer holding it open. Stacy couldn't make out her outline, sue to the heavy rain. Brows furrowed over narrowed eyes. Before she started to laugh; that was the weirdest encounter she had ever had. The laughter subsided into a large grin, she was suddenly beaming with happiness. Without a second thought, Stacy Morgan, grabbed her coat and walked over to the door of the Diner, 'Closed' sign in place and door safely locked, she took one glance around, before stepping into the ran, coat hugging her neck. She had to have, _faith_.

In the darkness of the now empty diner, there were only three things that would show for the single event that was so meaningless, yet, would change Stacy Morgan's life. Three simple, unrelated things; A puddle by the door, a black scuff on the floor, and a empty coffee cup on the counter.—

-----------------------

Walking through Restfield cemetery, Buffy Summers passed by grave stones with ease. A practiced ease, this was, after all, her calling. The rain had been a problem to begin with, but she couldn't avoid slaying. The number of vampires in the last week had almost tripled, at least she thought so. With college and all, she'd been slightly distracter. Riley was off with the Initiative, doing, whatever he did. She couldn't really criticize his work, the 'its to dangerous' really lost its effect when she went out every night to fight vampires. Yep, messed up. Things though, had been going well. In a broad, general sense; she was passing her studies. Which was really something that was stressing her out. And just last night, she was debating with Xander if the guy who playing in 'Robo Cop' was the same person who played Red Forman on That 70s Show. Useless, but relaxing.

Out of the corner of her eye, though the hair standing up on the back of her neck was prior warning, she spotted two vampires. Both in which looked like 60s retro hippie reject. They had that obnoxiously confident swagger that Buffy thought only worked for one person—The blonde cut off her own thoughts, when one of them lunged at her, followed closely by the second. Can they be anymore stupid? Apparently, because one of them actually yelled out, "The Slayer!"

"Its always the same thing with you of the fanged variety; 'Roar! Slayer!' – Who writes your dialogue, really." She commented, while punching the lunging vampire in the face. Turning to the side and backhanding the second one, both vampire in which fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They were up in a few moments, game face on. Lunging again, this time together, Buffy shoulder rolled the first one and went to trip the second, but he managed to reach her in time to get a clean shot off on her cheek. Groaning, she retaliated and whipped out Mr. Pointy. Jamming it in the chest of the larger vampire, his eyes went wide. Only for a moment, before be burst into a cloud of dust.

The second jumped to his feet, after seeing what happened to his partner. Lunging at the Slayer, he attempted a punch kick combo; only to have his punch ducked, and his kick trapped against her side. He going to pull the leg back, but before he knew it there was a stake sticking out of his chest; another one bites the dust. The blonde brushed off the dust, which had settled on her coat, though not much, due to the rain that was pouring down. Smiling, and twirling her stack expertly around her knuckles, she chanted; "Hoover-fied!"

She felt someone watching her, the sound of shoes getting on the bad side of the now muddy ground. The rain flicked off her blonde hair as she turned around, looking behind her for whoever was following her, a shiver ran up her spin. A soft humming sound entered her ears, totally metaphysical. It pulsed through her mind, accompanied by the warm sensation that spread through her entire body, even against the cold feeling of the rain pouring down, even harder. It was then she head the smokey drawl that the Doctors told her she'd never hear again. Turning around again, to the direction she originally had faced. A shadowed silhouette stood two meters from her, the same casual slouch, she couldn't see any features. But she knew who it was.

"Hey B. What's shakin'?"


End file.
